


The Weight of Ice

by asparkofgoodness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), Former-Nanny Crowley, M/M, Pining, Snow and Ice, Waiting for Armageddon, Winter, ice storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21821038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparkofgoodness/pseuds/asparkofgoodness
Summary: Have you seen a sheet of ice seconds before collapse?  The surface laced with growing scars; the crackling groan of anticipation, barely audible but there.  The suspended moment when you realize it will all dissolve to ruin soon.  Don’t blink.  Don’t even breathe.  Perhaps you can hold it all together if you want it bad enough.  If you’re really still.  But suddenly, it fractures.  Shards fall, jagged edges that can never be patched together again.  You’ve lost.To Crowley, the whole world was an endangered pane of ice.  In less than a year, a boy, who lived a few miles away and looked a bit like the one tackling his friend to the ground, would turn eleven.  If they had done their jobs well, nothing would change.  The surface would hold.If they hadn’t done enough – and, really, when had they ever done enough to prevent human suffering, to divert divine plans? – the world would break apart.  All this would shatter and disappear: the park, the people, the snow, the city.  For now, all existed in suspended animation.  Nothing to do but wait, keep still, and measure the cracks for signs of growth.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	The Weight of Ice

**Author's Note:**

> In the winter of 2018, a storm surprised London. Inspired by the prompt "ice storm" and a few of [these photos](https://www.businessinsider.com/photos-london-in-the-snow-2018-3).

London lay under ice.Everything was frozen in place, all the routines of all its citizens surrendered to the storm.Schools and businesses had closed.Most roads sat vacant.Some motorways were littered with abandoned vehicles, not a driver in sight.Fresh snow covered empty sidewalks.Overnight, ice and quiet had spread in thin, fractal layers over the whole city.

The only sounds shattering the day’s silence came from parks.The city’s normally-green spaces had become playgrounds for bored and adventurous children, excited by the prospect of a whole school-free day ahead of them.In Greenwich Park, kids hauled sleds up the hill and then raced back to the bottom.In Regents Park, they tested the edge of the frozen pond, shuffling away from land until fear took over and they skated, laughing, back to solid ground. 

And in St. James’ Park, a boy scraped together enough snow for a snowball and torpedoed it at his friend.It flew through the air, narrowly missing an innocent bystander, and hit its target in the chest.A chase ensued, complete with violent war cries, and while everyone else either ignored the boys or shook their heads in disapproval, a shivering figure in a dark coat, collar buttoned to his chin, watched with an amused half-smile.

Have you seen a sheet of ice seconds before collapse?The surface laced with growing scars; the crackling groan of anticipation, barely audible but there.The suspended moment when you realize it will all dissolve to ruin soon.Don’t blink.Don’t even breathe.Perhaps you can hold it all together if you want it bad enough.If you’re really still.But suddenly, it fractures.Shards fall, jagged edges that can never be patched together again.You’ve lost.

To Crowley, the whole world was an endangered pane of ice.In less than a year, a boy, who lived a few miles away and looked a bit like the one tackling his friend to the ground, would turn eleven.If they had done their jobs well, nothing would change.The surface would hold. 

If they hadn’t done enough – and, really, when had they ever done enough to prevent human suffering, to divert divine plans? – the world would break apart.All this would shatter and disappear: the park, the people, the snow, the city.For now, all existed in suspended animation.Nothing to do but wait, keep still, and measure the cracks for signs of growth.

From where he stood, leaning against a bare, frost-tipped tree, Crowley was barely noticeable.His red hair stood out starkly against the white blanketing the land, but if Crowley didn’t want to be noticed, he wouldn’t be.No one glanced in his direction, not even the parents, who were busy teaching kids to make snow angels or comforting little ones who had slipped on ice. 

Not even Aziraphale, who had wandered into the park, neck wrapped up in a thick tartan scarf, and was now standing by the edge of the ice-laced water.Crowley smiled, tipped forward instinctively toward him, and then froze.They hadn’t arranged to meet; they had separately been drawn to the park on this bright, brisk day.With a hum of contemplation, he settled back against the tree.

On this day of rarities, when snow had stuck to London’s streets, Crowley seized the chance to study him.The square, sharp shoulders of a soldier.The light curls that matched the sunlight shining off the icy surface of the water.The way he clasped one gloved hand in the other behind his back.He felt pulled in his direction, but he resisted. _A few more minutes,_ he thought, a child in bed on a bone-chilling morning, willing extra seconds into the day so they can soak in heat just a little longer. _He’ll never know._ It was a delicacy, getting to look without being watched in return.He was so used to keeping his guard up, minding where his eyes lingered, even when his lenses hid them, just in case Aziraphale could feel the fire of his stare.

Like a kid plunging a bare hand in the snow, covetous, foolhardy, Crowley let himself imagine.What it would be like, walking down to stand next to him and not caring who might see.Dusting snow off those rigid shoulders, feeling them sink a little, relax into his touch.Tugging apart those worrying hands so he could hold one in his own.Pressing his lips to the spot where a curl met his temple, forgetting himself in the smell of bergamot and book dust.Hastening him home with tempting tongue until he could warm his chilled, pink skin behind closed doors. 

Aziraphale’s head turned to the side and a puff of frosted breath escaped his lips and Crowley watched, the familiar glowing embers of desire sparking to full flames. _Tell him,_ whispered that reckless voice in his head. _Tell him before this all falls to ruin.While you still can.The clock is ticking…_ Crowley shut it up with a practiced shake of his head, his jaw clenched tightly to keep words from spilling out, even though Aziraphale would never hear them from this distance.Someone else might.Someone who could use those words against them.So he kept quiet.

Then, somehow, Aziraphale noticed him.Their eyes met, and his face lit up with recognition.He waved - a little wiggle of gloved fingers - and then replaced his hand behind his back as if remembering he shouldn’t be excited to see the enemy.Something in Crowley’s chest snapped. _Screw it_ , he thought as he let himself be willed down toward the water, toward Aziraphale. _Maybe I should tell him.If we don’t pull this off… If this all goes up in flames and we’re forced into the war and he never knew…_

“Crowley!”His name on those chaste lips, something chiming in the ring of it.Fresh from his self-indulgent fantasy, it licked wildfire down his spine.Aziraphale turned in greeting and then went back to watching the water.“Hello.Should I blame you for this cold spell, then?”

“Nah.”He may have taken advantage of the storm, bursting a few pipes here and there on his walk to the park, but he hadn’t started it.“Too quiet.Not my style.”

“It is quiet, isn’t it?Rare to see the city like this, so peaceful.”

“Mmm.”Crowley noticed that his eyes were the color of the icy water, then hated himself for noticing. _Say it,_ but in the dead quiet, with the city hushed and the snow muffling all noise, it felt as if finally spitting out those words would rattle it all to destruction.

A scream of delight came from behind them.“The children do seem to be making the best of the storm.”

The boy with the snowball was now shoving a handful of snow down the back of a girl’s coat.He swallowed a laugh.“Yeah.”

Aziraphale studied him for a moment, a sad smile on his face.“Remind you of someone?”

Behind his glasses, Crowley winced.Always.Why could he always read him?He wasn’t one of Aziraphale’s precious books; if he was, he’d earn the touch of tender hands in exchange for all his secrets.Instead, he felt like some flayed creature, killed and cut until his heart was on display, pinned in place.He shrugged and shoved his chin deeper into the collar of his coat.

“I do worry about him, alone with his parents now.Ten is a bit old for a nanny, I suppose, but he was so attached to you.You did a wonderful job with him, you know.Er – wonderfully evil, I mean.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Aziraphale’s admiring gaze.Crowley knew he was picturing skirts and bedtime stories and spelling lessons in the garden, and he couldn’t stand it.His dismissal and departure still stung; his short hair felt too light, made him untethered, bare.“He’ll be fine.”He tried to sound as cold as the water before him.“Gotta grow up sometime.”

Aziraphale made a face that told Crowley he wasn’t fooling him. _Course not._ Still, the angel knew to respect the lines Crowley drew in the sand – or snow – between them.Knowing what was coming, Crowley held his breath.“Well, I had best be on my way.I should reopen the shop for the afternoon, though I doubt anyone will brave the ice for a book.”

_I’ll come with you,_ he wanted to say. _But first, let’s walk the park.Make footprints in the untouched snow, yours next to mine.I’ve something to tell you.I’ll keep you warm, I promise._ But Aziraphale didn’t need him for that: he could will himself warm.They didn’t live on the same grounds anymore, hadn’t since summer.They were back to needing excuses, one for each stolen minute together, and on this grey-blue day, with everything at a stand-still, there weren’t any left.“Alright, angel.Be safe.Mind the black ice.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at that.“Ah, yes, one of yours, if memory serves.I’ll be careful.” 

He still hadn’t moved from Crowley’s side, and Crowley still hadn’t exhaled.Silently, Aziraphale opened his mouth, then closed it, reconsidering.The warm breath behind his unspoken words dissipated into the winter air.After a moment, he said quietly, “don’t be a stranger.”And then he turned, walking stiffly away, shoes crunching on the snow and ice. 

When he was gone, Crowley let himself breathe out, watching the smoke-like vapor trail out of his mouth to be blown away in the biting wind.Ice shifted on the pond, pieces breaking off to float toward deeper waters.In the wake of Aziraphale’s departure, he felt splintered in places that had felt whole before, or at least numb.He watched the water for a while longer, frozen in place with the rest of London. 

What hovered between them, persistent and powerful, was surely much too heavy for the fractured surface of their world.Aziraphale knew it: that was why he didn’t press him, hurried back to his rightful place, let him be.Nothing to do but wait.Hold strong.Hunker down.Stay the course.Never mind how the weight of ice can snap power lines, fell ancient trees if you let it build for long enough, layer upon heavy layer.He glanced down at the collection of footprints to his left and sighed.How he wanted to follow them. _Not smart.Not safe._ May as well linger, then, in the quiet paralysis of the city.

Just before sunset, the crowd of children began to thin.Stomping in their heavy boots, dragging sleds or siblings behind them, no one paid any attention to the figure by the water, snowflakes collecting in his auburn hair as he stood perfectly still, listening for something, perhaps, or waiting for the ice to thaw.

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks, again, to Drawlight for these delightful prompts. Kudos and comments warm my soul, and it's below freezing most December days where I live, so they'll be put to good use, I promise. Follow me [on Tumblr as thetunewillcome](https://thetunewillcome.tumblr.com/) for more _Good Omens_ love.


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